Head Over Heels Read online

  “Everything needs to be perfect,” I explain, grabbing Winnie-the-Pooh off my bed. “It’s not every day we have people stay over, is it?”

  Then I give Winnie a kiss and put him in the box on top of my wardrobe. I don’t want my friends thinking I still spend every night sleeping with a cuddly bear.

  Even though he’s the best and I totally do.

  “I’m very impressed,” Annabel smiles. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you, sweetheart.”

  I nod, quickly lobbing the ‘WELCOME!!!’ banner across the door. “It’s important to make the people you love feel wanted in your home.”

  “It is. I’m so glad you’re being mature about this, Harriet.”

  I glow with pride. She’s right: I really am.

  “It’s going to be so much fun,” I tell her excitedly, kicking my roller-trainers under the bed. “We’re going to spend the whole night examining my book of Interesting Animal Facts and quizzing each other on them. I’ve made a Q and A especially.”

  Annabel frowns. “Well … not the whole night. She’ll need to get some sleep.”

  Good point. Nat does get grumpy when she’s tired. “OK, we’ll probably be worn out by the choreographed dance routines anyway.”

  “Choreographed dance routines?”

  “Don’t worry. If there isn’t space in here we can move the break-dancing to the living room.”

  “Break-dancing?” There’s a pause while Annabel shifts Tabs to her other hip. “Sweetheart, it’s very kind of you to arrange everything so carefully, but sixty-eight really isn’t as young as you think it is.”

  I pause from randomly flicking a duster at the shelves and quickly do the maths in my head. Jasper and India are seventeen, but Nat and Toby are still sixteen.

  So 17 + 17 + 16 + 16 =

  “I think it’s sixty-six,” I correct as politely as possible.

  “Sixty-eight, sweetheart.”

  “Sixty-six. You’ve inaccurately added a couple of birthdays.”

  “Harriet,” Annabel laughs, heading back towards the hallway, “I appreciate your enthusiasm for both maths and human development, but I know how old my mother is.”

  I turn to stare at her blankly – what has that got to do with anything? – and that’s when I hear it. A familiar chug-chug-chug. A sputter-sputter-sputter. A thud-thud-thud.

  The sound of an ancient pink VW Beetle, reversing up the driveway.

  Apparently the human brain absorbs eleven million bits of information every second, but we only notice forty of them.

  Right now you can make that just one.

  There’s a loud crunch.

  “Yoooohooooo!” a familiar voice calls as I run to my bedroom window and fling it wide open. “Kittens, I’m here early! Goodness, that’s a funny place to put a hydrangea.”

  And there – beaming at us from out of the car window – is my hippy, nomadic grandmother.

  Bunty.

  o you want to know a fascinating fact about the salamander? It can have its brain removed, cut into slices, shuffled like cards, put back in and yet still function as normal.

  The same clearly can’t be said for me.

  I didn’t include Bunty in my earlier summary because I had no idea what to tell you. Last time I heard from my step-grandmother, she was camped out in a llama sanctuary in Nepal. Before that, she was trying to break into Tibet without a permit.

  A couple of months before that, I got a postcard from Bolivia saying

  Either way, she was anywhere but here.

  Blinking, I watch my grandma hit the brakes with a loud squeak and then start cheerfully backing into our hedge. My chopped-up brain feels like it’s desperately trying to fit itself back together again.

  Oh my God. Annabel wasn’t talking about my Team JINTH sleepover.

  She was talking about Bunty.

  No wonder there was such alarm about the dancing: it could literally break my grandmother.

  “Harriet,” Annabel frowns, pausing in the hallway as she watches me work this all out, “this shouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve been reminding you about this visit for the last two weeks.” She sighs. “I knew I should have made you put that phone down.”

  I stare at her, tiny bits of brain slowly dissolving into sludge. “Bunty’s staying with us now?”

  “Yes, now, Harriet.” Annabel glances out of the window to where my grandma has begun three-point-turning across the lawn. “Although she wasn’t supposed to be here until later tonight.”

  “But … I don’t understand. Where is she going to sleep?”

  “You’re giving her your bedroom. I assumed that was what you were tidying up for.”

  My eyes shoot wide.

  I love my grandmother, but this is my sanctuary. My refuge. She’s going to rearrange all my bookshelves. “But I’m having a massive and seminal sleepover tonight. Where is everyone going to go?”

  “You’ll just have to postpone it for a while, Harriet,” Annabel says calmly. “I’m very sorry.”

  “But … I can’t postpone again. Everything’s arranged.”

  “Then rearrange it.”

  There’s the sound of a car door being shut outside, and flip-floppy footsteps crunching up the gravel. Annabel carefully shifts a gurgling Tabby and starts heading down the stairs.

  In a panic, I race after them.

  Quick, Harriet. Do something. Save the Team JINTH Sleepover Plan. “But can’t she just sleep on the sofa like she did when Tabitha was born?”

  “No, Harriet.” There’s a knock on the front door. “She’s staying longer this time. I … don’t know how long for. She needs a real bed.”

  “And I don’t? I have important exams coming up, Annabel. Homework. Coursework. Essential biology experiments.”

  If in doubt, always fall back on academia.

  “Chickens?” a bright voice calls through the letterbox. “You don’t have another birdhouse, do you? I think I’ve broken this one. They may need to temporarily squat in a tree.”

  “Just one second, Mum!”

  “But …”

  “Harriet,” Annabel whispers sharply, spinning round. Her face is so firm and so lawyer-y, my mouth automatically closes with a snap. “Stop saying but. This is not up for discussion, so just try and be a grown-up about it. Please?”

  I blink. Nobody wins an argument against Annabel. Ever. I bet she can make grown judges cry.

  “Thank you, darling,” she says more gently, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I truly appreciate it.”

  And the front door swings open.

  K: try and be a grown-up about it?

  What is that supposed to mean?

  I’m sixteen and a half years old, thank you very much. If I lived in Cuba, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan or Scotland, I’d be a legal adult already. In fact, in American Samoa I’ve been one for two whole years.

  Maybe I should just move there.

  I squint at the tanned figure, shining in the doorway. My grandmother is backlit by sunshine, giving her the appearance of a stained-glass window. Her hair is glowing bright pink, blue sequins are glinting all over her floor-length orange dress, a tasselled green pashmina is dangling across her shoulders and there are approximately fifteen daisies wound randomly through her hair.

  And at least one caterpillar.

  It’s heading quietly but determinedly towards her left ear as if it’s been living on her head for quite some time.

  “Darlings!” Bunty beams, holding her shimmering arms out wide. “My three favourite girls in the whole wide world, come and give me your best cuddles.”

  I hop forward and give her a hug.

  Last time I saw my grandmother was for about five minutes after our return from New York last year, and I’ve genuinely missed her. It’s not Bunty’s fault that we clearly need a bigger house.

  Or a more comfortable sofa.

  “Harriet, darling, your aura is glorious at the moment,” she says, holding me at arm’s length and assessing me. “It’s th
e most beautiful shade of yellow, with a few splashes of orange.” She widens her eyes. “And gold. Golly, that’s new. How wonderful.”

  She turns to survey my sister.

  “Still a gorgeous red with a hint of bright pink,” she says approvingly, touching the end of Tabitha’s nose. “That’s my little maverick.”

  Then Bunty puts her hands gently on either side of Annabel’s face and studies her for a few seconds. “Pale blue, darling,” she says. “We’ll need to do something about that.”

  Annabel smiles faintly. “We will.”

  “Let me see what I’ve got.” Bunty starts rummaging through her patchwork satchel, then pulls out a feather and incense cone. “A Native American smudge kit should do the trick. The cedar smoke will clean any negative energy out in a jiffy.”

  “But where will it go?” Dad says, wandering in from the garden shed, where he’s been preparing for his next job interview. “Don’t give it to me, Bunty Brown. I’m already trying to find work in an industry that sells things to people who don’t need them.”

  “You’ll definitely want to use a bigger feather in that case, Richard,” she smiles affectionately. “I may need to hunt down an eagle.”

  “Or an albatross,” Dad grins.

  “Actually,” I interrupt as they hug, “the ostrich is the biggest bird in the world but the Great Argus pheasant has the longest feathers. They’re in its tail.”

  They laugh, even though that’s a totally accurate fact that they obviously didn’t know already.

  “Chickpeas, I promise I won’t get in the way,” Bunty says, dragging a brightly coloured carpetbag through the door. “I was en route to a Jivamukti yoga retreat in Mongolia and I thought: why not say hello?”

  “Give me that.” Annabel picks up the bag. “You’re not in the way, Mum. In fact, Harriet’s tidied her room for you especially. Haven’t you, Harriet?”

  She gives me a sharp look that says: haven’t you, Harriet, so I nod as convincingly as I can.

  “Don’t be silly billies,” Bunty says breezily. “I’m taking the sofa in the living room as usual and I won’t hear another word about it.”

  “But—”

  “But is a word, Annabel. Harriet’s sixteen and she needs her own space. Western beds are terribly bad for the spine anyway.”

  My stepmother opens her mouth to object again, then shuts it with a snap.

  Huh. Maybe she doesn’t win against everybody.

  “Plus,” Bunty continues with a little wink at me, “my mystical talents are telling me my beautiful granddaughter has something lovely planned with her friends for this evening. Am I right?”

  I stare at her in amazement.

  How does she … What did she … How on earth can she possibly …

  Oh.

  I still have the Team JINTH Sleepover Plan gripped tightly against my chest.

  A wave of gratitude washes over me.

  “Oh thank you thank you thank you.” I throw my arms around her. She smells of pine needles and blueberries. “You’re the best grandma in the whole world.”

  “I’m definitely one of them,” she laughs. “I’ve checked. Now, darling, go and have fun with your friends.”

  cientists say that if you added up all the adrenaline inside everyone in England, it would weigh less than three ounces. To put it into perspective, that’s the equivalent of a very small armadillo, an extremely large tarantula or three average house mice.

  I’m so excited, I must be using at least half of it.

  Buzzing with happiness, I grab my satchel, slam my trainers on and say a brief goodbye to Tabby and Bunty. With a small effort I manage to ignore Annabel’s I’m-Disappointed-In-You expression and the Talk-To-Her eyes she’s subtly making at Dad.

  Then I fly out of the house, imaginary wings at my feet.

  I know that logically it makes no sense to meet the team at the cafe only to turn around and bring them all straight back here, but that’s what I’m doing so deal with it.

  It’s my first ever gang sleepover. Not including the disastrous party I threw last year, it’s the first time I’ve ever hosted anything that isn’t just Nat and me.

  Tonight is going to blow everyone away.

  Beaming, I skip down the road.

  I quickly pick up a few interesting leaves for Jasper’s art assignment, a pretty purple flower for India, a piece of interesting wood for Nat (she’s doing a design project on sustainability) and a small pebble for Toby (no particular reason except I didn’t want him to feel left out).

  And I’ve just reached the cafe when my pocket starts vibrating. A millisecond later, Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo begins playing loudly.

  Sugar cookies.

  Hesitating, I peer through the window.

  The gang’s in there already, sitting in our normal spot, drinks in front of them. Nat’s looking at the front of an envelope, Toby’s drawing a diagram of something and Indi’s staring at her phone. Her socked feet propped on the table. Thanks to my fight with Annabel, I’m late.

  My phone’s still ringing and – when I drag it out reluctantly – FAIRY GODMOTHER is flashing on the screen.

  This might be important.

  Or it might not be. With Wilbur it’s sometimes difficult to tell.

  Quickly, I rap loudly on the cafe window.

  I’m here! I mouth as they look up simultaneously. Don’t do anything interesting without me!

  My friends stare at me through the glass.

  Just like that! I mouth gratefully, giving them a thumbs up. I’ll be just one minute!

  Then I turn around to take the call.

  onestly, it’s been great having Wilbur back from New York.

  Just not necessarily as an agent.

  Since the Paris debacle, the phone hasn’t exactly been ringing off the hook for my professional services. In fact, last time Wilbur called me it was four nights ago to give him advice on ordering pizza.

  I suggested tuna and pineapple: it was a great success.

  “Hello?” I say distractedly. Through the window I can see Nat rubbing her eyes and India shaking her head.

  What was that? What did I just miss?

  “Happy Friday, baby-baby-buffalo! How are you today, milk-muffin? Are you just bubbling under the unseasonal sun?”

  Nat opens the envelope and says something and Jasper emerges from the kitchen, glances momentarily at the group and then narrows his eyes and looks around the cafe.

  I rap on the window again and wave.

  He gives a rare grin and points at the full brown paper bag in his hand.

  Ooh, yay. More burnt biscuits.

  “Hello?” Wilbur says, tapping his phone. “Mini butterball? Are you still there or are you focusing on sprouting freckles like a little duck’s egg?”

  Whoops. Focus, Harriet.

  “Sorry.” I face the other way so I can concentrate properly. “I’m here. What’s up?”

  “Speaking of up, have you seen the gif of you doing the rounds on email yet, my little fish flake? You are utterly hilairical.”

  An abrupt memory flashes: strobe lights, a moving floor, a sudden splash of water. I clear my throat in embarrassment.

  Nope. Still not going to think about it.

  “It was six weeks ago,” I say defensively. “The fashion industry needs to get over it already. Have they got nothing better to do?”

  “Not really,” Wilbur admits. “There’s a bit of a lull between the spring and summer collections. You’re filling the gap nicely.”

  My phone beeps and I glance at the screen.

  “Huh. That’s weird. Stephanie is calling me too. She hasn’t spoken to me since Paris.”

  “Hmm? Oh, just cancel that, pumpkin. She’s just trying to make people buy her new velvet hairband range.”

  Then Wilbur clears his throat loudly.

  “Anyway. The reason I’m ringing you today, Harriet, is for a very special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity …”

  I squint a bit harder through the
window: India’s started pulling her purple boots back on.

  “For a limited time only, you too can be a part of a group of select and elite members of the fashion industry …”

  Now Toby’s putting his folder in his backpack.

  “… a plethora of talents from every corner of the globe …”

  Nat’s getting her coat. Are we leaving already?

  “… from Niue to Nauru …”

  “Huh? Wilbur, what are you talking about? Niue and Nauru? They’re both islands in the Pacific Ocean. That’s not every corner of the globe. It’s just one corner.”

  “Dingo-bats,” he sighs. “Never mind.”

  There’s a short silence, then Wilbur coughs. “What I’m trying to say is … Harriet, will you come with me?”

  “To the South Pacific?”

  “To the new modelling agency I’ve just set up.”

  And he’s suddenly got my full attention.

  “You’ve left Infinity? But …” Again sounds a bit rude. “Didn’t you just go back to working there?”

  “Darling moo, who wants to polish the crown when you can wear the tiara?”

  I have no idea what that means.

  “Everything’s ready,” he continues quickly. “I have the best contacts, and all my top models and designers are signed so it’s really no big deal if you don’t want to …”

  “Wilbur,” I smile, looking back through the window, “of course I want to. I’ll come with you.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes! You’re my fairy godmother. Where you go, I go.” Also I kind of get the sense that after Paris my time at Infinity Models is as good as over. And I really hate Stephanie, but that’s just an unexpected bonus.

  Wilbur lets out an enormous happy sigh. “Harriet Manners, you are the pompom on my jaunty beret. Has anybody ever told you that?”

  I laugh. “Probably not. So what’s the plan?”

  “I just have a few more duckies to line up and then I’ll give you a tinkle?”

  I nod and start heading towards the cafe doors.

  “I’m your girl, Wilbur. Just tell me what I have to do.”